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Tuesday, 11 November 2014

nostalgic walk in the Dorset countryside and a peek at Hampshire.

Leaving Wimborne behind and following the river Allen, on a winding footpath that heads north towards Witchampton, one soon forgets the bustle of normal Dorset life. It is Saturday, yet I see only five people on various forms of transport the entire day, I love it. My walk winds and climbs as far as the Crichels and back.


The meandering river Allen.

 

A little diversion from the footpath takes you to this wonderful old bridge, what a memorable sign, if only today!


A banded Demoiselle, enjoys the suns warmth.


One of the two Swans we heard arrive during the night. Purple-loosestrife grows along the bank of the little tributary.



Just outside of  Wimborne twenty plus flycatchers feed in the sunshine around a copse of trees.
  

In the sunny areas of woodland, Chiffchaffs are abundant as they slip south.


A young Chiffcaff takes time for a preen.


The farmers have taken the Winter Wheat and the fields are bare or stubble.


 Scarifying the fields.


The Northern Weatears are loving it , food for the journey. For they are Portland bound, then across to France, into Spain, Tarifa and across to Africa.


Above Witchampton a little farmer's set aside, is a feeding ground for 15 plus Whinchats also passing  through to Portland. Today I have seen so many passerines headed for the coast and that huge crossing to France!


I know that sound! how amazing to be just south of that old war time airfield at Tarrant Rushton, when two Lancaster bombers fly over with a Spitfire escort! Wow! pure nostalgia.


Whitethroats, who will also head for Portland and their journey back to Africa, quietly passing in the hedgerows.


A Roe buck watches from the woodland, as I pass in the countryside.


We stop for coffee at Barton-on-sea, with its beach huts and beyond  Friars Cliff and Mudeford.


Milford-on-sea, the Isle Wight nearly touchable in the back ground, Godwits feed before the tide.


Not the photo I expected at Milford-on-sea. Little Egret.


A summer holiday, crabbing net at the ready.


Under a brooding sky, people in silhouette.


A  Meadow Pipit watches us, the breeze ruffles it's feathers and we shiver. Time to head home.

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